


Little Red Riding Hoodie

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-15
Updated: 2007-01-15
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: The Grimmer version of QaF - based on the fairy tale and a plot bunny from Stephmck (whom this was written for). Introducing Justin as Little Red Riding Hoodie and werewolf!shapeshifting!Brian. Rated R for Retarded. :P





	Little Red Riding Hoodie

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Once upon a time there was a cute boy named Justin who was loved by all who saw him because he was blond and had a great ass and you wouldn't believe how far that got him.  
  
But most of all he was loved by his grandmother, who gave him so many gifts she was soon at a loss about what else to give him. One day she presented him with a red velvet hoodie, and because it looked so fetching and he never wore any other shirt until it reeked, he was nicknamed Little Red Riding Hoodie.  
  
One day his mother said to him, "Justin. Sweetheart. Go along and take this basket of food to your grandmother, she's sick and will appreciate it. But Justin. Honey. Sweetie. Stay on the right road to her house. Don't cut through Liberty Avenue even if it is a shorter walk, okay?"  
  
"Sure," Hoodie promised, and started out to his grandmother's house with the basket of food cradled on his arm.  
  
He had walked part of the way when he came upon the road that would take him on the shortcut through Liberty Avenue his mother had warned him not to take. He'd promised not to go there, but since Hoodie was a naughty boy who did bad things like say "I like to get fucked by dick" in front of his mother, he decided not to heed her warning and took the shortcut anyway.  
  
There were many amazing sights on Liberty Avenue, and soon Hoodie had walked further than he'd intended and stopped under a street light, taking stock of the unfamiliar surroundings and trying to regain his bearings. Suddenly a creature walked up to him, and he stared in wonder at what he thought must be the most amazing sight of all. It was a tall, dark figure that seemed to appear out of nowhere; not only that, it appeared to be a kind of wolf or some other sort of wolf-like animal. At least at first sight. Whenever Hoodie blinked, however, the image of the wolf seemed to hover superimposed over another form, that of a really hot guy. Seriously hot. At the next blink, the image seemed to shift back again, the canine form once again suspended over the human. Hoodie thought it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he thought this must be a little like seeing the face of God if God wore Prada.  
  
"How's it going?" asked the creature. "Had a busy night?"  
  
"I'm just walking around, checking out the bars," Hoodie said, trying to be blasè. Like he did this every night and wasn't quaking in his battered Nikes.  
  
"That's quite a basket you have there."  
  
"Why thank you. It's an inherited trait, I think."  
  
"No, I mean the other one. What's in it?"  
  
Hoodie peered into the basket, finding several kinds of food. Even a vegetarian dish, leftovers from last night. What had his mother called it? Oh yeah. "Oh, you know...soy foie...meatballs..."  
  
The wolfish eyes lit up with amusement. "Meatballs! Really. Then you're into spaghetti?"  
  
Hoodie was sweating buckets; this conversation wasn't going in the right direction at all. He was actually allergic to anything with tomato sauce; they'd given him ketchup once at Burger Queen and it had nearly killed him. And the soy foie? Tofu products were the worst! Hoodie basically subsisted on Cheerios. But what kind of an impression would that make on such a worldly-looking creature as the one in front of him? He raised his chin a little and, with forced bravado, said, "Sure!"  
  
The wolf nodded to himself, the hazel eyes narrowing and seeming to appraise Hoodie with barely-concealed merriment. The wolf knew the kid was putting on an act meant to impress him and was lying through his pearly whites. Spaghetti my ass, the wolf thought. The kid barely made the dress code for the Liberty Diner, let alone the more sophisticated international joints on the Avenue.  
  
But still, the kid certainly seemed to be a juicy morsel, and much younger than the last one the wolf had tried to pick up outside of the bars and steam rooms. He supressed a shudder when he remembered that stunt, and he was surprised he remembered anything, as stoned out of his gourd as he had been. He vaguely recalled sending the guy on a wild-goose-chase looking for an out-of-print Patrick Swayze poster, hoping to buy enough time to make it to the house before him. He recalled lying in wait there, badly disguised with a curly red wig, a "Hell-o-Satan" T-shirt, and horrible drag from the rack at the Big Q. The guy had finally arrived there, sans poster, thought the wolf was his mother, and made some kind of sanctimonious comment about "My what big pupils you have – what'd you take?". That had definitely put a damper on things.   
  
But the worst part was when a group of local yokels, men from Woody's who'd heard about the wild poster chase and figured something fishy was going on, had barged in intent on shooting him and taking his pelt. He had barely made it out alive. The next morning he'd sworn to stick to the bars and made a substantial donation to PETA. Remembering this mayhem, the wolf considered letting this kid go too, but then again...if anyone asked, he could always say he'd made it an early evening.  
  
"So," the wolf asked, the mental dice having fallen in his own favor, "where are you headed?"  
  
Hoodie debated with himself. He did want to get the basket to his grandmother's. But he also wanted to talk to this creature some more. If he played his cards right, maybe the creature would agree to keep him company on the way there, and then after they'd dropped the food off, who knows? He decided honesty would, in this case, be the most hassle-free policy and said, "Well, actually I'm on my way to drop off this basket at my grandmother's who lives nearby. After that I just figured as long as I'm dressed I could walk around some, so – no place special."  
  
"I can change that," the wolf purred.  
  
"What, that I'm going no place special?"  
  
"No, I mean the being dressed part."  
  
******  
  
As it turned out, the wolf creature led him to a jeep parked nearby and offered him a ride to his grandmother's house, where he was able to dispose of the cumbersome basket very quickly, give the old woman a hug and his mother's best wishes, and make it back to the jeep in under ten minutes. Hoodie figured the wolf – whose name, he found out, was Brian – would take him back to Liberty Avenue, but he parked the jeep at a corner of Tremont.  
  
Brian led Hoodie to an old brownstone building, where they took a noisy freight elevator to the top floor. Once there, Brian quickly threw back a sliding metal door to reveal the most amazing loft appartment Hoodie had ever seen. He was invited in and asked to slide the door shut while the wolf dumped the contents of a bottle of Vittel over his head, and, while Hoodie stared in wide-eyed astonishment, shook his head so that his fur stood out in spiky damp tufts.  
  
"Oh my," Hoodie said, thinking it would be polite to make some conversation while he watched the wolf tearing his clothes off, "what big ears you have!"  
  
"All the better to hear you beg and moan with, my dear," Brian replied, flinging his shirt in the general direction of the kitchen.  
  
"Oh my, what big hands you have!"  
  
"All the better to grope your bubble butt with, my dear."  
  
"Oh my, what big eyes you have!"  
  
"All the better to cruise all kinds of hot guys with, my dear. We're not a couple of dykes, you know."  
  
"Oh my, what a great big mouth you have!"  
  
"All the better to blow you with, my dear."  
  
"And...oh MY! What a big –"  
  
"Oh would you just shut the fuck up and rim me?"  
  
Hoodie blinked. "Um...what...exactly do you mean?"  


*******  
  
The alarm rang early the next morning. Much too early, thought Hoodie, as the creature lying next to him reached over him groggily to shut it off. Actually, Hoodie thought, not a creature, at least not anymore, but a very beautiful, very tousled and very hung-over man. At least that was how it seemed, but Hoodie wasn't sure what to think – at the crack of dawn when the first rays of sunlight had fallen over the futon bed, the creature in the form of a large wolf had changed before his very eyes. The furry wolf image had seemed to become more transparent, shimmering over the human image Hoodie had only glimpsed very briefly before, the way a mirage shimmered in the heat, and then suddenly vanished completely.   
  
Hoodie wasn't sure what to make of it and kept staring at the man, still Brian he assumed, beside him who stared back at him in addlebrained confusion. He seemed to have trouble piecing together who Hoodie was and what he was doing there and why – his bewilderment growing as he surveyed their surroundings. The once tidy and orderly loft was now in chaos, vases and sofa cushions in a jumble on the floor, one of the blinds hanging askew, and several pieces of furniture overturned.  
  
"Jesus Christ – what the hell happened?" Brian asked.  
  
Hoodie grinned and started to answer, but Brian cut him off, "Wait, don't tell me. We were playing Fetch the Woodie."  
  
"And Roll Over and Play Dead," Hoodie said. "You're not very good. At least that's what you told me, so I had to do all the rolling over."  
  
"Shit!" Brian exclaimed. "Why do I do these things?"  
  
"Well, because you seemed to be a wolf. It was weird. Now you're human – why does that happen?"  
  
"Why? I'll tell you why. That's been happening since I drank some shit they cooked up in a bathtub in Tijuana. Ever since, I've turned into a wolf every night until sunrise."  
  
"Like a curse?" Hoodie asked. "Or a magic spell? Isn't there an antidote?"  
  
Brian sneered. "I don't believe in antidotes, I only believe in fucking."  
  
The matter seemed to be settled. Hoodie thought about it while he showered and on the way to school in Brian's jeep. He wasn't sure whether to feel bad for Brian – they'd had a lot of fun and being an animal hadn't seemed to bother Brian in the least. And it had been kind of kinky. He was sure he wanted to see Brian again – but to his disappointment, Brian seemed to have no intention of seeing him again.  
  
"I don't do boyfriends," he said, "after all, I'm Brian the Werewolf Kinney for fuck's sake!"  
  
Hoodie was heartbroken at first, but then he devised a strategy. I will, he told himself, stalk Brian day and night, wear him down and drive him nuts, and I will jump his bones every chance I get and make him crazy so he'll fuck the shit out of me, and after that I will stalk him again. Then one day maybe I'll find a way for the evil spell to be broken, and he'll soooo care about me, and not fuck other guys, and he will marry me and buy me computers and big mansions with stables and fuck me on every available surface because he so loooves me. Hoodie smiled, satisfied with himself, and set about putting his plan into action the very same day.  
  
As it turned out, it took several years for Hoodie's strategy to work, but he was persistent and brave, and by and by, the evil spell was broken even though Brian didn't believe in antidotes, only fucking. As it turned out fucking WAS the antidote. Specifically, fucking the same twink more than once, which he'd never done before he met Hoodie, so of course he'd never discovered the one way to break the evil spell. They were very devious and crafty in Tijuana these days.   
  
After a long while, Brian found he sooo cared about Hoodie, and decided not to fuck other guys anymore, and asked Hoodie to marry him and bought him computers and a mansion with lots more available surfaces to fuck on than the loft, and told Hoodie he so loooved him, even though he was grimy and smelly and had bad hair at the time.   
  
Hoodie was deliriously happy – finally he had everything he wanted, a mature and functional, normal relationship with Brian.  
  
In fact, it was so mature, functional and normal that one day Hoodie said, "You are just not the person you once were when we first met, when all you did was fuck me and make me miserable. Now all you want to do is cuddle. I am going to run off to New York and be a world-renowned artist. And if that doesn't work I will be a world-renowned go-go boy in Chelsea and get shitloads of cash stuffed into my underpants every night."  
  
Brian nodded dejectedly. "Well, even if you get to be a famous artist...or a famous go-go boy...or if you don't succeed at all, it doesn't matter. It's only time."  
  
"Hunh?!" said Hoodie, thinking maybe it wasn't such a good thing that Brian was spending so much time hanging out at the gym with people who said a lot of cryptic Zen things, like Ben. "What does that mean?"  
  
"It means," Brian said, "you better get your ass on the road, after all you do have a 3 a.m. curfew."  
  
"Oh yeah," said Hoodie. "Well then, later."  
  
"Later."  
  
And so Hoodie went on his way, but by dinnertime he realized he just wasn't happy in New York. Painting there wasn't any different than painting in Pittsburgh, and since all he painted were variations of Brian's cock, it kind of sucked if he had to paint from memory. And being a go-go boy wasn't much fun either if Brian wasn't around to nag him about doing his homework and then spank him because he wouldn't. Besides, he also missed Brian terribly. So he booked the next flight back to Pittsburgh. Before Brian missed his credit card terribly and reported it stolen.  
  
And so Hoodie came back well before curfew, and discovered that in his absence, Brian had rebuilt Babylon during lunch break, so that Hoodie wouldn't have to leave town to be a world-renowned go-go boy as well as an artist, because he sooo loooved him. And they lived happily ever after in the mansion Brian had bought, and spent their days fucking on every available horizontal surface, and most of the vertical ones as well.  
  
The End!  



End file.
